


Oh Lady Be Good To Me

by InquiryFoxtrot



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: M/M, Slow Dancing, anything in () is lil beholding facts, its about the love and care, soft jonelias for the soul<3
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-25
Updated: 2020-06-25
Packaged: 2021-03-04 04:01:40
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,341
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24917260
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/InquiryFoxtrot/pseuds/InquiryFoxtrot
Summary: To Jon, home is The Admiral and Georgie’s perfume and reading by candlelight and the lull of a statement and Jonah. To Jonah, home is the white noise of a tape recorder and old books and a familiar fog and ink stains and the institute and Jon.
Relationships: Elias Bouchard/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist
Comments: 21
Kudos: 63





	Oh Lady Be Good To Me

Jonah’s Eyes have been open for almost 200 years. He has Seen all that can be seen, Known all there is to be known, and Watched all that needed watching. And yet, he hasn’t, and doesn’t think he ever will, tire of watching Jon. 

Jonah watches Jonathan with a fascinating and ravenous hunger. His eyes try to catch every movement, every wrinkle of clothing, every strand of hair, trying to commit All that is Jon to memory. He fills himself on Knowledge of his beloved and the satisfaction and fear that comes with being completely, unequivocally Known. But, with Jon, there is always a new detail to learn. 

(Jon’s favorite color is purple. Jon does not like mint. Jon wears clothes that are too big for him. Jon loves Jonah)

Everytime Jonah thinks he has Learned all he could learn and Know all he could know about Jon he is surprised with something new. It is unfamiliar. It is exhilarating. It is  _ intoxicating _ . 

(Jon has a secret sweet tooth. He loves strawberry cheesecake and blueberry pie)

Sometimes, when they both feel human enough to eat, Jon cooks. Never anything special. Always comfort food, like his grandmother’s old recipes or meals made with Georgie. Foods that taste like home. Home is something Jonah hasn’t had in centuries but is slowly, slowly, becoming familiar again.

(To Jon, home is The Admiral and Georgie’s perfume and reading by candlelight and the lull of a statement and Jonah. To Jonah, home is the white noise of a tape recorder and old books and a familiar fog and ink stains and the institute and Jon)

Jon is making stew. Something tomato based with chicken and served over rice. (“Pollo guisado,” He remembers Jon telling him. “It’s traditional.”) There is music playing on the record player, an old model Jonah bought in the 30s. It’s jazz, a soft crooning of trumpet and a voice faintly muffled by the speaker. 

Jonah lifts his drink to his lips and smiles. The domesticity he has now is strange. Good, and filled with love and hope and  _ Jon,  _ but still strange. Of course, Jonah has had domestic moments before. Lovers and people that were almost friends to occupy his time. Most recently with Peter. But there is a warmth with Jon that is indescribable. It is nothing like the chill of fog that rolls off the Lukases in waves or the apathetic heat of two bodies pressed together out of convenience. 

With Jon he feels more whole than he has in years. He feels that pleasant, constant warmth simmering in his chest, mixing with drops of excitement, care, and joy. Jonah, for all his knowledge, never knew what to make of his emotions. It had taken longer than he cared to admit to Know what he felt was Love. 

(Jon cares for the houseplants. He speaks to them and treats them gently. He waters them and gives them kindness. Then he turns around and provides that same tenderness to Jonah)

Jon is swaying gently to the music as his broth simmers. His hair is pulled up into a loose bun. Small strands of brown and grey have fallen out and curl gently around the nape of his neck. Outside, a breeze blows in through the open window, and the candlelight flickers with the flutter of Jon’s hair. 

All the classic words come to mind: Beautiful, lovely, perfect, mine, Jon. But none can really describe what Jonah feels when he looks at Jon. That quiver in his chest, the stuttering  _ oh _ in his mind at the reverent simplicity of a gentle dance and a small breeze. 

(The word is extraordinary)

Across the room, Jon softly hums along.

(Jon was in a band. Jon can sing. Jon can play guitar. He can pluck out gentle melodies to lull Jonah to sleep. But sometimes Jon will sing, low and soft and sweet, and Jonah will hang onto every word)

Jonah stands, crossing the room to press in behind Jon, looping his arms around Jon’s waist and burying his face in the crook of Jon’s neck. A chuckle rumbles beneath him.

“Hello, dear,” Jon says softly, fondly. Jonah can hear the bemused smile on his boyfriend’s face. Boyfriend. Jonathan is his boyfriend. Even now, years later, the simple fact Jon is his and he and Jon’s sends a wave of unbelieving adoration through him. Jonah doesn’t respond, just breathes in the scent of ink and rosewood. “I _ am _ doing something, you know.”

Jonah smirks. “I know.” He tightens his grip slightly. Behind them the music changes. 

“Are you going to let go anytime soon?” Jon asks and turns down the stove to a simmer. Jonah takes the opportunity to maneuver Jon to face him. 

“No, I don’t think I will,” Jonah teases, looking up at him. There are a million little intricacies in Jon’s face. The quirk of his eyebrow, the pockmarked scars on his skin, the faintest impressions of smile lines.

“You are insufferable, my love.” The tug of his lips into that lovely, frustrating smirk. 

“And yet you still adore me,” Jonah responds and pulls Jon down to kiss the smirk away. 

(Jon’s eyes are a thousand colors at once. A million different shades of brown and green and gold, each speck more interesting than the last. Jonah is convinced they go on forever, that he will never be able to memorize every individual hue, that there will always be more to take Jonah’s breath away. Elias’s eyes are so dark they’re almost black. Jon thinks they are endless and mysterious and beautiful)

Eventually Jonah leads Jon to the center of the room, hand in hand, his head on Jon’s shoulder. The music swells, soft saxophone and poems of love. 

Jonah raises Jon’s hand to his lips and presses a kiss into his knuckles. “Care for a dance?” 

Jonah feels a flash of satisfaction and pride at the delightful blush that creeps up Jon’s cheeks. A kiss here, a compliment there has Jon melting. Reduced to a blushing mess, stuttering like a schoolgirl and it was  _ Jonah _ who had that effect on him. 

Once, when their courtship was still young, Jonah had asked: Am I allowed? Am I allowed to love him back? 

The plan had never been for Jonah to care too.

The Eye hadn’t given permission, Jonah isn’t sure it’s capable of that level of thought, but it seemed pleased enough and Jonah thought that was the best answer he could get. 

(Jonah hadn’t been asking The Eye’s permission, not really. Jon Knows this and loves him all the more)

Jonah’s arms are looped around Jon’s neck. Jon’s are wrapped securely around Jonah’s waist, pressing them comfortingly close together. They aren’t dancing anymore, what was once an improved waltz of stumbling feet and tipsy spins has dissolved into little more than gentle rocking. But they are so wrapped up in each other’s hold that neither of them notice or care. 

Perfect is the word that comes to mind, which Jonah concedes isn’t entirely untrue. But it also isn’t everything. Here, with Jon, is also safety and security and home. It is comfort and compassion. It is -

“Jonah?” Jon murmurs, his voice so quiet it's almost inaudible. 

“Jon.”

“I love you.”

Jon has said it before and he will say it again, but that doesn’t stop Jonah’s heart from stuttering or the way his breath hitches at the words. 

“I Know.” A beat. “Jon?”

“Jonah.”

“I love you too.”

Jon smiles and the look he gives Jonah is softer and kinder than Jonah will ever deserve. Jon leans in. 

“I Know.” 

Jonah tilts his head and reaches up to meet him. The melody crescendos. 

(The eyes look up up up. Past the world and into the place that doesn’t exist and the entity that Knows and Sees all. 

The Beholding watches its avatars as they watch each other. As they are known and understood. As they learn and continue learning. The Beholding watches over them always and it Knows it watches _Love_ )

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> Gbj?? This ones 4 u guys:’) ily<3 the Jon facts are courtesy of discord and I would say I’m sorry for making y’all unknowing JonElias accomplices but Alas! I Am Not!
> 
> This is the first fic ive written in over a year so please be kind. Im very fragile. I also learned over the course of this fic that I can no longer do the thing where I write 5k words in a day bc this is only like 1.3k and it took me three days, im exhausted
> 
> Is jon puerto rican in this fic despite the fact that almost no puerto ricans live in the uk? Yes, bc im puerto rican and i said so. Also the guisado recipe is my mothers and its vv good i highly recommend


End file.
